A Little Prayer
by FiercestCalm
Summary: Taken down by the moderators, reposted with changes. Bulma contemplates her child in the night.


A Little Prayer 

So open up your morning light  
And say a little prayer for I  
You know that if we are to stay alive  
And see the peace in every I  
- Paula Cole, "I Don't Want to Wait"

Bulma sat in the nursery room, rocking Trunks and listening to the softly playing radio. She turned her head slightly as a song she knew came on.  
"She had two babies"

Trunks yawned and raised a chubby fist.  
"Would her son grow to know his father?"

Bulma inhaled deeply as the words of the song stirred something within her.  
"I don't want to wait for our lives to be over, I want to know right now what will it be? I don't want to wait for our lives to be over, will it be yes or will it be sorry?"

She looked down at Trunks. If Vejita didn't come back, Trunks would still have many father figures. Goku, Gohan, Kurilin, Yamcha, Tien, maybe even Piccolo would care for him like their own son, but it still wouldn't take the place of his real father. Mirai Trunks had grown up with just Gohan and he had been so polite and nice but he had also grown up in a world that was destroyed. Thinking of Mirai Trunks still brought tears to her eyes. He had been with them so long that she had actually begun to think of him as her son. And then, as suddenly as he had come, he left them again. The Vejita in his world had not been with them because he died a noble death defending their world. This one; however, wasn't there because of pride and haughtiness, and because he was an all-around bastard. No one knew why Bulma saw anything in him, and frankly, neither did she. She had always been a proud woman, and she guessed that was what she saw in him. He never gave up, and even when he was bruised and bleeding he didn't surrender. He had grown up knowing that he would have to kill his father someday, and he hardly saw his mother. That was a normal childhood for him.  
"Ha!" she said aloud, startling Trunks. Normal was no longer a part of her vocabulary. None of them had ever had a normal childhood. She guessed that Gohan had the hardest childhood (Besides Mirai Trunks). He had been taken from his home when he was 4, and trained for a year with someone who had murdered his father. After only a couple of months he had to fly to a distant planet with a couple of people he hardly knew. He had to witness the death of his father and fight an extremely strong monster. After all this, he still had to take care of his pregnant mother. Now that she was a mother she had an idea of the pain that ChiChi had gone through all those years, why she was so protective of her son. But ChiChi had always had Goku, a wonderful father and husband. Her thoughts were interrupted by a male voice.  
"Attention classes of 1999: wear sunscreen."

She growled. She hated that song. She turned around and hit the radio to the floor. The voice stopped. Trunks woke up and started crying. Bulma shushed him and sighed. ChiChi and she had learned English during one of the few dull points of their lives. They wanted to learn it because they thought a lot of the American singers were cute, but of course they didn't tell anyone that. A deep voice startled her.  
"If you listen to anything I say…" The voice continued the "Sunscreen" song, but Bulma was sure she had turned the radio off. She turned and saw it lying on the floor, silent. She turned again and saw a dark figure approaching her. She gently put Trunks back in his crib and stood up.  
"Don't move!" she said. "I'm trained in martial arts!" The figure laughed and stepped into the pool of light that was formed by Trunk's small lamp. Bulma looked down at his face- the porcupine hair, the tightly drawn eyebrows, and the smirk. "Vejita!" she gasped. She drew back her hand and slapped him. He didn't move, didn't even blink.  
"Woman," he said calmly, "Where's my son?" She walked to the cradle and picked Trunks up, holding her protectively to her chest.  
"What do you want with him?" she asked defensively.  
"Can't a father see his son?" Vejita replied, a tinge of amusement in his voice. Bulma hesitantly handed Trunks to him. Trunks reached up and wrapped his hand around one of Vejita's fingers. Bulma stepped back. There was something in Vejita's eyes, something she had seen only once before affection. He blinked and resumed his scowl. He handed Trunks to Bulma wordlessly and flew out the window. Bulma stood where she was, staring out the window.  
"Oh Vejita," she whispered. "We need you."


End file.
